


Mergers And Acquisitions

by blusher91



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, thomas being sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 00:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17838758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blusher91/pseuds/blusher91
Summary: Francis is told to put his differences aside with James. It goes about as well as expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Executive Stress, which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498219)! Could probablyyyy be read as a standalone, but it'll make more sense after reading the first part.

Francis lowered his cup of coffee and fixed Thomas with a pointed look. “Go on then.”

Thomas had been stealing sideways glances at him all week. Sometimes amused, sometimes exasperated. It was obvious what he was thinking, and frankly incredible that he’d managed to keep his mouth shut about it for so long.

Now he just raised his eyebrows at him, with an entirely unconvincing blank expression. “No idea what you’re talking about, Crozier.”

Francis sighed. “It must be giving you an ulcer being this bloody quiet. So just get it off your chest.” He grunted into his cup. “Don’t be like the rest of those gossiping twats in the office.”

Thomas barked a short laugh but nodded in capitulation. “You can’t really blame them for gossiping.”

“Bloody can,” Francis muttered.

“Well, it’s a pretty odd thing,” Thomas said. “All this silence and politeness between the two of you. It’s like you’ve undergone some sort of nightmarish reprogramming.”

Francis snorted. “Why “nightmarish”? I thought you’d be thrilled. You haven’t had to listen to me moan about him all week.”

Thomas sighed and it sounded partly amused and partly pitying. “Awkward silence is hardly an improvement, Frankie. At least when you were at each other’s throats you could fling a few insults to let off steam.”

Francis shrugged and avoided his eye. He had been working up to telling Thomas about what had happened between him and James. But it was embarrassing. Having to admit he’d lost control like that. Been completely blindsided by his own urges.

Not that he hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to relive the experience. He’d run the incident through his head so many times that the memory felt like it was in danger of being worn out. And he’d ended most of his rumination sessions face down on his bed with one hand jammed down the front of his underwear. Panting and rubbing himself against the covers like he was sixteen again.

“Besides,” Thomas said, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I think we both know that only one of two things could have happened to bring about this miraculous new pacifism between the two of you.” He tapped his nose. “If you get my drift.”

Francis was suddenly more alert. “Now what are you going on about?”

“Well,” Thomas looked at him over the rim of his cup, “it seems to me that either you had more to do with that pretty bruise on Fitzjames’s mug than either of you are letting on. Or...” Thomas smirked and trailed off.

“Or?” Francis prompted impatiently.

Thomas leant forward and lowered his voice. “Or you’ve found some other method of letting off steam.”

Francis choked on his coffee. “ _What_?” he managed to splutter through his coughs.

Thomas cackled. “You’re as transparent as glass, Frankie. Fitzjames too mind. Poor lad can barely look in your direction without going red."

“Christ,” Francis huffed. “I really don’t need that theory getting around.” He glowered at Thomas. “John’s already on my case and the last thing I need is for him to hear gossip like _that_.”

Thomas just smirked wider “So, I’m taking it was the latter?”

Francis still didn’t know if he felt ready to confess the whole mess out loud. But he couldn’t lie to Thomas. Literally. He saw right through him.

"Well, I did punch him as well,” he mumbled finally.

Thomas chuckled in triumph. “O-ho. So he likes to play like that, does he? Typical.”

Francis sent him a withering look. “Hilarious. And look, we didn’t…” he lowered his voice a decibel or two, “ _shag_. We just had a… conversation. It became heated.”

Thomas whistled. “I’ll say. And now the two of you are dancing around each other like you’re at a hoedown.”

“So does the entire office now think I’m fucking James? Brilliant. That’s just what I need.”

Francis groaned and massaged his forehead. Trust James to cause him problems even when they were avoiding each other.

“Nah,” Thomas replied. “I don’t think they have any idea what’s going on. I’m just used to your bizarre methods of attracting a mate.”

Francis scoffed. “It’s not going to happen again. John’s sick of the gossip. He’s told me to smooth things over with James.” He drained the dregs of his coffee and reached for his bag. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Smooth things over how?” Thomas gave a decidedly suggestive quirk of his eyebrows.

Francis ignored him. “James loves pleasing the boss. I’m sure if I tell him I’m on orders from John, he’ll be more than happy to go back to us hating each other in a more normal way.”

He paused and sighed. That was probably him being a bit optimistic. James was certain to still be pissed off about him slugging him in the face, if nothing else. He glanced down at the red bruises still dusted across the knuckles on his right hand and rubbed them absently.

“Well, good luck with that.” His attention snapped back to Thomas gathering his belongings up from the table. “Sounds like nothing could possibly go wrong.”

Francis hurried to catch one of the lifts before the doors closed. He stared at his reflection in the mirrored interior. It would be the first face to face conversation they’d had since the incident in his office. And his heart was beating harder than it should have at the prospect. He just needed to keep calm and not allow James to rile him up. Because once that happened, it could easily escalate to the situation he was attempting to avoid.

Namely, him pushing the prissy little upstart into the nearest wall and making him come off as many times as he had over the past godforsaken week. It’d certainly be a lot more fun for the both of them than carrying out John’s mealy-mouthed “smoothing over” instruction.

There was a sharp ding as he reached his floor. He collected himself and his thoughts. No. There could be no more incidents like that. He had to take the highroad and try and wring out some sort of normal working relationship for the two of them.

The doors sprang open and he made a beeline for James’s door, pretending he didn’t see the curious glances of his colleagues as he passed them.

 

It had been a week. James thought that by now it would have stopped. That his mind would have stopped. The ruminating and rehashing. It was unbearable. The more he went over what had happened between him and Francis, the less sense he could make of it. And the more wound up he seemed to get.

James leant back at his desk and shoved his laptop away from him. He couldn’t concentrate. He hadn’t truly concentrated for days. Every time the silence fell in his office and he set his mind to whatever task he needed to complete, he’d start remembering. And when the remembering started, it was invariably accompanied by the various garnishes and flourishes of an imagination very prone to exaggeration.

They’d only really shared some fumbling and rutting on top of Francis’s cluttered desk. But his mind filled in the blanks. And posed questions that were very difficult to ignore. How Francis’s broad, slightly coarse hands would feel underneath his shirt. If he would pin his hands above his head when he laid on top of him or bring them up to drape about his shoulders. How thick his—

He shook his head violently. As though being violent with himself had helped banish the intrusive thoughts at all. The more he struggled against the urges he had, the tighter their hold seemed to be on him.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. Enveloped in darkness, he heard his office door quietly creak open, letting in a brief and intense sweep of noise from outside before it closed again.

“Christ, Tozer.” He threw his head up with an irritated smack of his hands on his desk. “Why is it so difficult to knock—” He closed his mouth, the rebuke dying on his tongue.

Francis had his bag on one shoulder, which he duly dropped to the floor beside him with a thud. James noted the coffee stain on his sleeve and the cowlick in his hair with something like confused despair. His mouth felt too dry to form words.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” Francis still had that strange, extremely stiff quality to his voice that he’d had all week.

James knew he had been no better. Neither of them knew how to act now. There had been rules before. Guidelines. Now that they had realised that there may be more than just rivalry going on between them, it was like they were a couple of embarrassed teenagers at a school dance. Skirting around each other. Neither of them knowing how to navigate their new dynamic.

“No,” James said, feeling wary. The bruise on his cheek seemed to tingle in sympathy.

He gazed at Francis, willing his brain to find the words from somewhere to create something resembling a conversation. Trust his usually irrepressible ability to talk to fail him when he most needed it.

Francis had shadows under his eyes. James was sure they hadn’t been there a week ago. The five o’ clock shadow was also a shade or two darker than it usually was. He hoped his own state of mind wasn’t written quite so obviously across his face.

Francis took a few steps towards him, hands in his pockets. He was clearly thinking about what he was going to say. James’s heart felt like it was beating so furiously that Francis might see it vibrating through his jacket.

Francis gestured aimlessly. “Look, it’s been a week now and I think it’s probably high time we... sorted things out.”

James was surprised, almost impressed by Francis’s measured tone. And then he was suspicious.

“And what’s brought this on?” he asked. “Not like you to give up a perfectly good grudge.”

Francis’s eyes had fluttered into an eyeroll before he could stop himself. But he quickly smoothed his expression again.

“We're the best the firm has. Makes no sense for us to be at war.” Francis wasn’t really catching his eye. More... skimming over it.

Even without that tell-tale sign, it couldn’t have been clearer that he wasn’t there on his own volition. And that pissed James off. He didn’t exactly know why. He should have been relieved to get back to how things were between them. But there was something deeply irritating that Francis was fobbing him off with someone else’s words and someone else’s intentions.

“Francis, why are you here?” He kept his voice steady. The moment he betrayed his aggravation, it’d start Francis off and it would snowball into a screaming match before either of them had time to think.

Francis looked thrown by the question. He finally looked him in the eye. No more darting about the room like he was some ill-prepared job interviewee. “I think it’s obvious. The whole office knows something’s amiss. It’s a distraction.”

James laughed incredulously. He was itching to stand up and not be sitting there while Francis towered over him. It made him feel like he was at a disadvantage. “And you came to that gracious conclusion all by yourself?”

He knew he was goading him. That he’d lit Francis’s rather short fuse. But he’d spent a week agonising and he wasn’t going to be fed a bunch of platitudes from the world’s most unconvincing amateur diplomat.

Francis threw his head back. “Jesus, James. You don’t make it easy for a guy, do you?”

James said nothing. He breathed out a little huffily and sat back in his chair, fixing Francis with a steely look. He again resisted the urge to stand. It would seem like he was trying to be intimidating and he didn’t want Francis to puff up with indignation until he’d gotten a straight answer out of him.

“God, you’re a bloody hardcase,” Francis said crossly. “John told me to speak with you, alright? He says everyone in the office can see how off we are.” He snorted. “I mean, you haven’t called me a “washed-up old man” for over a week now. That’s just unheard of.”

James finally got out of his chair. He couldn’t contain the burst of agitation at Francis’s admission. “I knew it,” he hissed. “You’d rather be demoted to intern than apologise to me.”

Francis scoffed and a tell-tale flush of pink appeared in his cheeks. “One of us had to take the highroad.”

James paced out from behind his desk, shaking his head in disbelief and annoyance. “Why would John come to you and not me?”

“For God’s sake.” Francis threw out his arm, blocking his way. “Is that what this is all about? You’re wondering why the boss would come to me and not his little pet?”

James whirled around to face him. “Well, you’re not exactly a born mediator, Francis. I seem to recall the last time we spoke, you punched me in the face.”

Christ, he was getting a headache. And they were talking in circles. _Again._ Why did his head go to pieces when he was with Francis? Besides the obvious fact that he was infuriating and constantly trying to get under his skin.

But James knew exactly why he went to pieces. It was utterly futile to try and pretend that he didn’t. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blind to his own emotions, his own desires. But pivoting so suddenly from one intense emotion to another was… confusing. And almost completely too much to take.

“We just have to make it work,” Francis said, finally breaking the silence. “For John’s sake. We have to somehow… get back to normal.”

“How exactly?” James snapped.

They were just inches from each other. Like they had been that day a week before, face to face and eye to eye. Francis was still flushed, and his jaw was still subtly working like he was biting back whatever he truly wanted to say.

“I don’t know, James,” Francis retorted. “Maybe I can take a leaf out of your book and pretend you don’t exist.”

That stung. “You hypocrite,” he hissed. “You’ve been giving me the same damn treatment!”

Francis was looking hard into his eyes. It had what seemed like the entirely wrong effect on James. Every hair on his body felt like it was standing on end. “Well, now I’m trying to fix things and you’re being about as fucking difficult as you possibly can.”

“No, you’re here doing John’s dirty work for him,” James snapped. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to come here on your own accord.”

Somewhere in the fog of his anger, he thought he saw Francis’s expression change. But he’d been carried too far by his fury to heed it.

“I can’t believe I’ve been agonising over this all week and all you bloody care about is getting into John’s good books.” He could hear the shrill edge to his voice, but he didn’t feel like he could stop. “And now you’re in here giving me some bullshit about— Mmf!”

A strangled noise, halfway between a gasp and a muted protest burst from his lips briefly before Francis dragged him into an all-consuming kiss. He could feel Francis’s hands grasping both of his arms, pinning them by his sides and pulling him to him. He should have pulled away. He definitely, _unquestionably_ should have pulled away.

“Oh God,” he groaned weakly.

He was frozen. Letting Francis take control of his mouth, letting him hold him there against him so he could feel the ridges of his hips, the softness of his stomach, the buttons on his shirt, the way his knee slid just slightly between his thighs—

And then he wasn’t frozen. His hands flew up to Francis’s face, grasping him, gasping hungrily as he kissed him back. Francis’s hands let go of his arms and moved over his body. He felt fingers on his chest, his waist, his hips. The two of them stumbled back against his desk. The backs of his thighs hit the edge. Francis pressed into him, ardent and insistent. They pawed and tugged at each other’s clothes, playacting at what they truly wanted to do.

James broke away, turning his face away so he could gulp in some air. He felt Francis dip his face to his neck, kissing and panting against his neck, leading a trail up to his jaw. James squirmed underneath him, his legs opening almost instinctively. They rubbed briefly and wildly against each other like they were back in some sticky backseat with the lights out and their knickers around their knees.

Maybe it was that thought or the sudden, shrill sound of someone’s car alarm going off on the street below that brought James rudely back to earth.

With a none-too-gentle shove, he pushed Francis off of him and stumbled away from him. He faced the wall, pushing his hair out of his face. He wouldn’t turn around until Francis was gone. He wouldn’t be seen like that again. Out of control and out of his depth.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

He heard Francis’s quick footsteps and the door rapidly open and close.

Staring unfocusedly out of the nearest tinted window, he tried to order his thoughts. He didn’t know how he was supposed to think about spreadsheets and deadlines for the rest of the day. Smile at his co-workers. Make small-talk in the tea room.

He felt more lost than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Francis had forfeited his evening glass of scotch. It had been a long time since that had last happened. But tonight, he wanted a clear head. He also did not want James to be able to accuse him of being anything less than stone cold sober.

He reminded himself to thank Thomas again for being better than he was at remembering addresses as he pulled up outside James’s three-storied, red brick apartment building. He consulted the text Thomas had sent him with James’s apartment number on it and then stepped out into the steady, cold drizzle that had been falling since the afternoon.

He attempted to open the doors of the building but found without surprise that they were locked. He eyed the six buzzers next to them. He wondered momentarily if he should try to disguise his voice to gain entry. But he instantaneously realised that it was a terrible idea, given how badly James would react to deception. He’d have to be open. If James didn’t want to let him in, then he’d just have to stand there in the rain like an idiot. Try again another day.

He pressed the button before he had time to lose his nerve. There was a dull buzz and a minute later, James’s familiar and decidedly weary voice sounded.

“Yes?”

“James,” Francis said, his own voice sounding rough as guts to him. He could practically hear James freezing in place on the other end of the intercom. “It’s… It’s Francis. Is it okay if I come up?”

There was a pause so extended, he began to feel self-conscious standing there. Just as he was giving up hope, the low buzz sounded again and there was a click from the glass double doors. Francis took his finger off the button and quickly let himself in before James changed his mind.

Up a set of brightly lit concrete stairs he found himself face to face with James’s door. He knocked on it with far more conviction than he actually felt. He was face to face with a gilded peephole. That James had not just one, but two ways of screening his potential guests was entirely unsurprising to Francis.

He was almost caught off-guard by how quickly James opened the door. He had expected for him to make him sweat for a few minutes, while he decided whether he truly wanted to let him in or not. Francis was hit by a dull blast of air-conditioning and the familiarly crisp smell of a very new and frequently cleaned apartment. Francis glanced behind him and saw a lot of clean, white tile.

They stared at each other. It was strange seeing James out of his favoured Givenchy suit and with his hair actually resembling that of a mortal man. Granted, his shirt still looked pristinely tailored and he was wearing Oxfords, but for James it was positively casual. He looked a bit peakier and red-eyed than his usual bombastic self.

He stepped back to let Francis in, which he supposed was a start. Francis wordlessly stepped over the threshold and looked around the apartment. It was exactly how he would have imagined it. It might as well have been James’s personality distilled into an interior. Sleek, beautiful and understatedly expensive. Francis could tell that the furniture alone probably cost more than what he made in a month.

James closed the door and stared at him for a few moments, as though he could hardly believe he was there. He gestured in the vague direction of his sofa.

“I’m fine.” Francis realised how tense he was when he heard his own, strained voice. He sounded as edgy as James looked. “Thank you.” He attempted a small smile.

James slid his hands into his pockets decidedly uncomfortably. “So, what do you want?”

Francis decided to choose his words more carefully than he had that morning. No mention of John or being ordered to speak to him. Nothing that might inflame James’s indignation at being treated like an overly emotional child. Though frankly, that wasn’t an entirely inapt description sometimes.

“Look, I’m not here because of John.” He thought it best to get that out of the way. “I’m here of my own volition, okay?”

Though he didn’t add that it certainly wouldn’t hurt to be in John’s good books for a change. If he could return his and James’s relationship to something approaching normal, then maybe he’d finally be looked at as something more than a blunt instrument.

“But you know we have to fix this,” he ploughed on. “We have to… put our differences aside.”

He wished James would give him something to work with. He was just standing there, staring at him. With his hands in his pockets like a sulky teenager. The state of affairs was bad for both of them, Francis reasoned with himself. James had clearly gotten as little sleep as he had over the past week. The sooner they put it to bed, the better.

He almost cringed at his choice of words and hastily pushed away the thoughts that were invariably roused.

James finally spoke. “I don’t know, Francis. I don’t even know… how we start to fix things.” He slid a hand out of his pocket and tiredly rubbed his eyes. “Maybe it would be better if…”

Francis stared at him. “If?”

James dropped his hand down, looking him in the eye. “Maybe I should ask for a transfer. I’m owed a couple of favours.” He shrugged. “I’ll call them in.”

Francis’s jaw went slack. He felt like the entire script he’d formed for the evening had just gone up in flames. It was nothing short of surreal to hear those words leave James’s mouth. He would have found it easier to imagine him announcing he was becoming a monk than voluntarily retreating.

And Francis knew he should feel elated at the prospect of being the last man standing. It was what he had always wanted, wasn’t it? To finally be free of James? To have free reign of the department? But what he felt… Well, it wasn’t elation. That was for certain.

James began to shift under his gaze and faltered from meeting his eye. Francis realised that he needed to say something and not just stare at him with a blank expression. He shook his head, struggling to find the words to respond. He choked back his impulse to lash out. It was close to the surface. He felt like he was holding back the floodgates of some inexplicable fury towards James’s decision.

“If that’s… what you want.” Francis’s voice sounded very hollow to his ears. “I suppose it would make sense.”

“What else is there to do?” James replied, irritation in his voice. Perhaps he too had been expecting, even hoping for satisfaction from Francis. Enthusiastic agreement. “You know John wants things calm and we seem to be incapable of doing anything but argue and—”

“And what?” Francis rasped, taking a step towards him.

James held his gaze, waveringly. “What do you want from me?” His voice shook. “You come here… demanding an outcome. And then you throw it back in my face.”

Francis sighed, dropping his shoulders down. He was right. Of course he was. Francis had gone there to force a resolution, hadn’t he? James’s suggestion was as good as any. He just had never thought, never expected James would suggest something so dramatic. He probably _should_ have expected it. It was James after all. Drama was his forte.

“You’re right,” he said. It was all he could say. “We have to move on. Pretend none of this…” he gestured vaguely between them. “Pretend it never happened.”

James almost looked surprised by Francis’s agreement. And then something rippled through the rich, intense brown of his eyes. For a second, Francis saw the same kaleidoscope of emotions in James’s eyes that had gone through him.

“Yes, it’s for the best,” James said, more to himself than him. As though trying to convince himself. “If it’s what we both want.” He looked up at him and the wind was almost knocked out of Francis. There was a bare vulnerability he’d never seen before. Fragile and momentary. But there. “Is it what you want?”

Francis swallowed. He’d been a businessman long enough to know an ultimatum when he heard one. Though that word was possibly too strong. It was more a signal of… an end. He didn’t think he’d ever felt such a powerful throb of anxiety as he did then. The pressure to choose a way forward was heavy.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them, the answer was obvious. The way forward was obvious. And it always had been. He had just refused to see it.

He met James’s eye. “No.” He sighed from what felt like the deepest part of him. “No, it isn’t.”

And that time, James came to him. He crossed the spotless white tiles of his spotless, modern apartment and pulled Francis into his arms. Francis reciprocated as easily as breathing. It was their third kiss and they were beginning to know the rhythm and flow of each other’s’ bodies.

Francis was certainly beginning to understand James’s. Like a new language. Mapping out his movements and desires like a cartographer. He held the delicate line of James’s jaw and dragged him gently into a deeper tussle. James was in turns soft and demanding, sometimes urging Francis on to take control and others chasing after him with a burst of fervour.

They broke apart to catch their breath. James’s mouth was wet and red. Francis usually endeavoured to leave less mess when he kissed someone, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone with even half as much ardour. It was like he had never truly kissed someone before. Had only been going through the motions his entire adult life.

James’s eyes were simmering with the fiercest kind of want. It was surreal seeing it there. In place of the imperious self-regard and irritable disdain. But perhaps it had always been there under that flimsy cover of rivalry and jealousy. For both of them.

James surged towards him and he stumbled backwards, taking him with him as he tumbled down onto James’s expensive sofa. He groaned low as James straddled his lap and urged his head up so he could kiss him again. Francis ran his hands down the length of James’s body, the length of his crisp shirt to the band of his trousers.

He ground his pelvis up into James’s. James made a taut, unsteady sound against his lips, returning the motion with zeal. Francis choked at the friction. There was a lot of fabric between the two of them, but he knew the state they were both rapidly getting into.

He fingered the band of James’s trousers. “Take these off,” he breathed, resting his forehead against James’s.

James nodded with a soft whimper and rolled off of him to sit beside him. He arched his back, hooking his thumbs into the band and pulling them down over his thighs. Francis drank in James’s body like a man parched. James’s eyes never left his. And they crackled with yearning.

Francis shed his own trousers, though he knew his body wasn’t slim and elegant like James’s. His thighs and stomach were larger and softer. But James was looking at him with a hunger so overt it almost winded him. He hadn’t been looked at like that for very long time. And James’s eagerness only seemed to increase as Francis’s lower body was fully uncovered and laid out for him.

With some awkwardness, given the tangle of their trousers around their knees and the limited space on the sofa, James urged Francis onto his back and laid on top him. They were a mess of limbs, with James’s knee one side of him and the other nestled between his thighs. Francis’s legs splayed underneath him.

James’s erection, crowned with a small damp patch of slick, was pinned against his inner thigh through the material of his Calvin Kleins. Francis gripped his shoulders and pulled him down to kiss him. While James was distracted by Francis’s tongue pushing insistently into his mouth, he fumbled between them with one hand and used the other to steer James’s body so it was more comfortably aligned with his.

He put his fingers inside James’s underwear and tugged. James gasped and lifted his hips to allow him to pull them down. They caught momentarily on the length of his cock. The breath seemed to hitch in both of their throats when Francis yanked them free. James’s warm fingers immediately fumbled to do the same for Francis.

It was slightly more difficult for him atop Francis. And particularly given that he seemed very unwilling to stop nuzzling at Francis’s jaw. Francis eventually took pity on him, after enjoying the rather lovely twin sensations for a few moments. He easily worked his own (unbranded) underwear down and slid his hands around James’s body, seeking out the smooth mounds of his arse. He squeezed experimentally.

“Francis...” James groaned, arching his back and inadvertently wedging his stiff cock against Francis’s.

The next sound came from both of them. A harsh, guttural moan. It caused them to share a flushed and sheepish smile, before Francis carefully worked his hand around the girth of their cocks pinned against each other and James’s smile quickly became a needy lip bite.

There was a lot of wetness already sandwiched between them and it made his work rather slippery. Sweat and a good deal of precum. It was undeniably gratifying to see how excited James was for him. He was leaking fluid almost incessantly.

“Francis... Oh God.” James threw his head back, exposing his pale neck. “ _Oh_.”

Francis could definitely go for hearing that sound again. Raw, low and vulnerable. His hand was slipping and struggling to get purchase. But James certainly didn’t seem to mind. Francis strained forward to take the offered gift of James’s bared throat. He licked over his Adam’s apple, feeling it tremble and almost dance under his tongue.

James whimpered. His eyes fluttered. “Close... Francis...”

Francis growled softly and yanked his chin down to take his mouth while he worked them both clumsily to the edge. He forced his free hand between them as well, feeling for James’s balls. His fingers slid underneath him, between the slippery valley of his thighs. He stroked his fingers there.

James cried out into the night air. He shivered helplessly and Francis watched him arch up almost violently as he spent. Francis moaned in relief and let himself go as well. Jerking his hips, he came in a few hard spurts up all over James’s beautiful shirt.

James collapsed on top of him and Francis felt the strength in his own body fail too. He fell limp against the sofa. Something like silence fell on them. Punctuated occasionally by James’s air conditioner whispering or cars passing on the street below. Francis felt like if he didn’t move, he was going to fall asleep right there.

He pulled his arms out from underneath James’s now rather malleable body.

“Christ, you’re heavy,” he mumbled, stretching his limbs out.

James snorted a laugh. “Shut up.”

He sounded exhausted. Francis lifted a hand to stroke his hair back from his face.

James made a protesting noise and swatted at him. “Don’t you touch my hair with your hands covered in spunk.”

He lifted his head from the crook of Francis’s neck and rested it on his chest. His eyes sought out Francis’s. His face was flushed and rather wet. His features were softened by a haze of satisfaction and fatigue.

Francis decided sleepily as he laid there that he could get very used to seeing that look on him.

 

When James awoke, he couldn’t remember where he was. It was dark, but he knew he wasn’t in his bedroom. He confusedly felt about beside him, eyes adjusting to the darkness enough that he could make out his living room.

When his hand came clumsily into contact with skin, the events of the night before came rushing back in an almost overwhelming wave. He was on his sofa. And Francis was asleep beside him, his breathing soft and slow.

His sofa doubled as a futon, so they had pulled it out and made a bed for the night. Both of them had been so exhausted they’d barely been willing to move more than that, collapsing next to each other and falling asleep before they could even exchange words.

He jumped as Francis made a sound in his sleep. He turned his head to look at him and rolled carefully onto his side, holding his breath as he willed him not to wake.

Francis slept on. The frown lines on his forehead were smoothed out. All the tension and stress gone from his face. James could have counted his eyelashes. He felt it was a rare thing to see him like that. At his most vulnerable and gentle.

He knew he was treading a dangerous line allowing thoughts like those in. A few fumbling encounters were one thing, but what he felt was something else entirely. He could be setting himself a course for pain.

As he reached out a hand and dared to brush a few stray hairs from Francis’s forehead, he was faced with the sober realisation that he would just have to take a leap of faith. And see what morning brought.


End file.
